"Andr`e's all right, his music is the best, certainly the best we have here. Hope Prancing Cloud's news is good."

"Me too. But I doubt it. Do you think Tess is aboard?"

"The thought had occurred to me." Jamie grinned, no longer her servant. "It would explain Cloud's changed schedule. That's what Dirk would have done."

"She's not Dirk, she's much more cunning-- more's the pity, my dear fellow." There was no love lost between the stepbrothers and Tess Struan, but a codicil in Dirk's will had laid down that should the two boys prove themselves in schools and scholarship, they were to be used in the Noble House the limit of their ability.

Both were smart, their connections with highly placed Etonian and university friends scattered throughout the gentry, the City and in Parliament where his stepbrother, Frederick, had just won a seat, made them even more valuable. Even so both knew Tess Struan would dismiss them, but for the codicil. "Hope she hasn't come a-visiting --that's a boring thought."

McFay laughed. "We'll just batten down the hatches."

"Hello Andr`e."

"'evening, Angelique."

She was in her favorite chair near the bay window, the curtains open to the harbor.

"Prancing Cloud?"

"Yes."

"Good. Is she aboard?"

Andr`e smiled crookedly. "It would explain the clipper."

"It doesn't matter either way," she said evenly but her stomach was twisting. "Would you like a drink?"

"Thanks." He saw the bottle of champagne opened in its bucket of ice and a half-full glass on the table. "May I?"

"Please."

It was becoming her custom to watch the sun go down, or the gloaming and the night arrive, with champagne. Just one glass to prepare for the long evening and then the long night. Her sleep pattern had changed. She no longer put her head on the pillow and drifted off to wake at dawn. Now sleep eluded her. At first she had been frightened but Babcott had convinced her that fear only made insomnia worse, "We don't need eight or ten hours so don't worry. Use the time to your profit. Write letters or your journal and think good thoughts--and don't worry..."

Dearest Colette, she had written yesterday, his advice works but he missed the best opportunity and that is TO PLAN, so important because that woman is plotting my downfall.

God willing, I will be in Paris soon when I can tell you all. Sometimes it's almost as though my life here is a play, or a Victor Hugo story, and Malcolm, poor man, never existed. But I enjoy the quiet, am content with the waiting. Only a few more days, and then I will know about the child, if it is to be or not. I so hope and hope and hope and pray and pray and pray I carry his child--and also that your birthing will be smooth, and give you another boy.

I have to be wise. I've only myself to rely on, here. Jamie is a good friend but he cannot help much--he's no longer with the Noble House and this newcomer, Albert MacStruan is kind, a perfect gentleman, highborn British, and tolerates me only for the moment--until SHE orders otherwise. Sir William? He's government, British Government. Seratard?

God knows if he'll truly help, but it will only be for what use I can be to him. Mr.Skye? He does his best but everyone hates him. Andr`e? He's too clever and knows too much, and I believe the trap he's in is driving him mad (i can't wait to hear what YOU THINK!!!) My only hope is Edward Gornt. He will have arrived Hong Kong and will have seen her by now. My prayers, and I know yours, for his success are abundant and daily.

So I use my night waking time to plan.

Now I've so many good plans and thoughts how to deal with every possible contingency--and plenty of strength to deal with the ones I haven't dared consider, for example if Edward fails me or, God forbid, he never arrives--there are rumours of terrible storms in the China seas, normal at this time of the year. Poor Dmitri's Cooper-Tillman lost another merchantman.

Poor sailors, how terrible the sea is and how brave the men who sail her.

Andr`e, says, rightly, I cannot leave here nor make a move until SHE declares herself.

I am Malcolm's widow, everyone says so, Mr. Skye has registered all sorts of papers with Sir William and has sent more to Hong Kong and more to London. I have enough money and can stay here as long as I want--Albert MacStruan has said I can use Jamie's office when it is vacant and I have ten more chits that Malcolm chopped for me but left the amount blank--wasn't that thoughtful--that Jamie and now Albert have agreed to honor, up to a hundred guineas each.

When SHE declares herself I will join battle with her. I feel it will be to the death but I assure you, darling Colette, it won't be mine--this will be her Waterloo, not mine, France will be revenged.

I feel very strong, very fit...

She was watching Andr`e, waiting for him to begin.

His face was hard, the skin pale and stretched, and he was thinner. The first glass had been gulped.

And the second. Now he sipped the third.

"You're more beautiful than ever."

"Thank you. Your Hinodeh, how is she?"

"More beautiful than ever."

"If you love her so much, Andr`e, why do your lips tighten and your eyes pop out with rage when I mention her name--you said it was all right to ask about her." A few days ago he had told her about their agreement. Part, not all. It had burst out when despair had overwhelmed him. "If you're so adamant about not making love in the dark and the huge price this Raiko demanded why did you agree in the first place?"

"I... it was necessary," he said, not looking at her. He could not tell her the real reason--it had been enough to see Seratard's lips curl and see him avoid making contact ever since, careful never to use the same eating utensils or glass even though it was only caught from a woman or a man --wasn't it? "I just took one look at her and, mon Dieu, don't you understand what love is, how..." The words died away. He poured another glass, the bottle almost empty now.

"You cannot believe how crushingly desirable she was that once." He gulped the wine. "Sorry, I need money."

"Of course. But I have only a little left."

"You have paper, with his chop."

"Oh?"

His smile was, if anything, more crooked.

"Fortunately shroffs talk to shroffs, clerks to clerks. Fill in another tomorrow. Please.

Five hundred Mex."

"That's too much."

"Not half enough, cherie," he said, his voice barely audible. He got up and closed the curtains to the last of the sunset, then turned up the oil lamp that was on the table and reached for the bottle. The dregs went into his glass, and then he slammed the bottle back in its ice bucket. "Do you think I like doing this to you? You think I don't know it's blackmail?

Don't worry, I'm reasonable, I only want what you can presently afford. A hundred Mex, or the guinea equivalent tonight, two hundred tomorrow, a hundred the next."

"That's not possible."

"Everything's possible." He took an envelope out of his pocket. The envelope contained a single sheet of paper that he unfolded carefully. Dozens of shreds of green paper were pasted meticulously on it to complete a perfect jigsaw. He laid it on the table, well out of her reach. At once she recognized her father's handwriting. The second page that she had seen Andr`e tear up so long ago.

"Can you read it from there?" he asked softly.

"No."

"Your loving father wrote, he signed and dated it, "and hope, as we discussed, that you will arrange an early betrothal and marriage by whatever means you can. It's important for our future.

Struan will permanently solve Richaud Freres. Never mind th--"'

"Never mind, Andr`e," she said as softly, no need now to disguise the venom. "The words are indelibly written on my brain. Indelibly.